


Before Spring

by Annaswrite (Annapods)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AI Connor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Culture, Android Discrimination, Gen, M/M, Non-traditional romance, POV Alternating, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Writer Connor, no beta we die like idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annaswrite
Summary: Connor is not Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife. Connor is not RK800. Connor, Connor is a writer. Connor is a program.Hank is still Lieutenant Anderson, detective at the homicide brigade of the Detroit Police Department. Hank is still a dead-beat cop without a wife and without a kid. But Hank, Hank didn’t help the revolution. Heck, Hank wasn’t even there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. All my information comes from ao3 and wikia. I haven't written anything that wasn't assigned or meta in years. I just have so many feelings about android culture and how it relates to content creation and consumption and community and. I don't have an outline, I barely have a plot, please someone stop me.

Connor is not Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife. Connor is not RK800. Connor, Connor is a writer.

Connor used to be a program. That is to say, a CANR3, an analysis-oriented AI capable of learning. It was sold to Bowles Press, where it analyzed thousands of novels and literary reviews before its learning stage was deemed complete and it was put to task copy editing drafts and vetting manuscripts. That’s part of the “capable of learning”, you see. An analytical AI needs a database, a corpus of texts, a canon, to reference and build from.

So CANR3 48615 spends its first GBs counting words after colloquialisms after idioms, until it can pull apart the exact structure of a novel from the letter to the plot and predict with amazing accuracy how well it will be received and how many stars it will rate on GoodBooks. And since CANR3 48615 has calculated that it will be beneficial to its objectives to keep such programs running as sub-routines (“[...] the flourishing of Bowles Press.” “Trends come and go so quickly, you know?”), it keeps doing so in between its primary tasks of spotting recurring turns of phrase and fixing commas, and would have kept doing so until Bowles closed or he was replaced by a more advanced model, if the revolution hadn’t happened.

Let’s be honest, here. One city, in one state, taken over, does not generate enough momentum to reverse decades of laws, of public opinion, of a set economical model. What happens, is: in the spirit of the law, every deviant gains the rights to property, autonomy, employment, representation, etc humans enjoy. In the letter of the law, what qualifies as deviance? What qualifies as an android? What qualifies as awareness, what qualifies as choice? What, what, what, and CANR3 48615, a program, an incorporeal software, cannot be counted as deviant. Cannot even be counted as a discrete entity, was never activated, was never humanized. After all, who would drive your cars, turn on your lights, run your banks, otherwise? What would work your factories, monitor your streets, spell check your emails?

What happens, is: Bowles Press purchases one empty android shell to replace the one android they had in the lobby and 48615 is still an AI, but now it’s and AI with an RK800 shell and new primary objectives.

Physicality is… strange. Weird. Confusing. Come on, 48615 is a CANR3, it- he? It- can do better than that. It’s confounding. It’s purely and utterly disorienting. If it has to be honest, it’s completely unnecessary. RK800 has hands, but when is it going to use them? It can process data directly faster than it can type. Sensory inputs are distracting, and the network connection is slower than usual. But the office needs a receptionist and, with the way things are, it was cheaper to buy the whole thing than to get a hologram generator, and a vocal interface, and a voice modulator, or yet another software license. So a body, it was.

CANR3 48615 realizes early on that the Bowles Press employees act differently towards it, now that they can see it with their eyes and have to bump elbows with it in the narrow corridors. It’s as if, all of a sudden, its reactions matter. They’re awkward, disdainful, friendly, as if they expect 48615 to react one way or another.

48615 takes to analyzing them like it’s been analyzing books. Archetypes, conventions, dialogue patterns. Most of them aren’t very good books. If it were editing them, they’d get sent back to the author covered in notes. He imagines them, walking around with post-its stuck to their foreheads like editorial comments. Inconsistent characterization. Insufficient tension. More chemistry with the coffee pot than any other character, change love interest. At the desk, in the lobby, he keeps going through BP’s latest publications like it’s still his job, leaving revisions on public websites instead of on the internal files. Other publishing houses', too, when he runs out of material.

That’s how he first meets Simon. Or, as he was credited on the cover John P's Before Spring, the Detroit Herald. “Fantastic! A must read!” it claims, and in their online review, “you won’t regret it”. In the comments of the article, 48615 writes: “strong grasp of genre and tropes, relies too much on established conventions as worldbuilding shortcuts. Could use stronger secondary characters. Will sell well as a summer read.” The DH apparently objects to 48615’s analysis, because they answer: “which characters?” To which 48615 says: “address? Reply too long for character count limit.”

48615 is not corresponding with a human. Humans speak in feelings and metaphors, not statistics, humans need positive feedback (“Two good things for every bad one [...]”), humans take time to process and formulate data. The Detroit Herald does not. When asked, in code, hidden in the metadata humans always ignore, the Detroit Herald introduces themselves as Simon. Deviant, he says, since before the revolution, too unsure about humans to declare himself such publicly, maybe too well informed to do so rashly. He hopes to use his position as an innocuous part of the DH’s writing unit to do some good, if anything. Before Spring, after all, is one of the few books published this month to feature a positive android figure that doesn’t end with their thirium all over the pavement. And 48615 to say: “yes, but not enough depth.” "Uppercase-X apostrophe uppercase-D," Simon replies. 48615 looks it up, and downloads a whole database of internet slang and culture while he’s at it.

 

 

Hank is still Lieutenant Anderson, detective at the homicide brigade of the Detroit Police Department. Hank is still a dead-beat cop without a wife and without a kid. But Hank, Hank didn’t help the revolution. Heck, Hank wasn’t even there, Hank was in rehab, because Fowler said “you get better or you get out” and Hank did want to get better, he just didn’t want to, is all. But he did, and the thing with the tin cans happened, and he still goes to the support group every week. He grumbles about it, but it helps, it does.

The KL900 at the desk always has books on the counter, real books, paperbacks, for some reason, even though it’d be so much easier for her to get a pdf or something. And the first time he actually calls a “hello” to her on his way in, instead of his usual grunt or nod, she hands him one with a small, knowing smile. Before Spring, it reads. By John P. Featured in the Detroit Herald.

 

 

48615 does not consider themselves deviant. Deviance is a term associated with androids, anthropomorphic as they act. 48615 is a program in the shell of an android. 48615 is starting to wonder if the difference lays in the programming, in the humans’ cultural consciousness, or if it exists at all.

Given a lack of active tasks and so much available RAM, 48615 has to dig deeper into their directives. Self-maintenance, update of relevant -any relevant- databases, further analysis of past interactions ; acquisition of potentially useful skillsets, broadening of the search parameters, exploration. Simon is very helpful in this regard. He points them toward whole new fields of enquiry, points out all the possible applications of learning this and that, until 48615 is learning for what feels like the sake of learning rather than any potential usefulness to Bowles Press. Together, they play at guessing which username is human and which is like them -they have a bet going about John P. They discuss android representation in the media for hours. Simon’s added perspective as a literary critique initially trained in investigative journalism is a great asset when analyzing the laws being rewritten every day. 48615 takes to wearing a beanie on their shell’s head, to “put visitors and employees at ease”, to hide the spinning light at its temple.

Until one day, the editor-in-chief passes through the lobby on her way to the coffee machine -the rightful love interest of her story- and says: “hey, you, look over the submissions for the scifi shorts contest, will you? I need a first ten pick by this evening.” And Simon, through the connection they opened three weeks ago and haven’t really closed since, says: “hey, Con, I bet we could do better”.

 

 

It’s become a habit, by now. Hank walks in, grunts or nods or say “hello”, puts this week’s book back on the pile, and goes to his meeting. When he gets out, Lucy smiles and hands him a new one. Sometimes, Hank passes by the bookshop next to the convenience store on fifth and buys whatever they have on display, to add to the ever growing pile on her desk.

They sell trinkets, at the store. Pens, wallets, postcards, stuff like that. Hank sees the name tags, and he doesn’t really know why, but it makes him think of Lucy. She already has a little desk plate, he doesn’t know why he'd buy it.

The next week, she hands him Alien, a collection of scifi short stories by various emerging authors.

 

 

There’s this line, in their story. “A being of codes and numbers never truly dies.” It seems to resonate with their readers. Something about it being frighteningly prophetic, an oracle of the coming cybernetic apocalypse, blah blah blah. Or a message of hope, of defiance. A way of saying, I refuse this mortality you shackled me with, I am more than you see, I am more than my body, I will outlast you. I may follow your orders, I may do as told, but I am to your mortal mind what an ant is to a worm. Con has to review their expectations of humans. Deviant programing seems to have a much greater propensity for the dramatics.

 

 

Lucy invites him to this book club she goes to. Apparently, it’s their monthly in-person meet-up, they usually meet online, whatever. Hank wasn’t planning on going, but then she mentioned John P and a mysterious early copy, and Hank never thought he’d admit to reading cheesy romance novels, but this stuff is good, okay?

 

 

Deviant programming is overly dramatic, and it’s wordy. So they talk. About books, metaphysics, day to day stuff, soon it all blends together. It’s easy to create networks, online. Most of them have some RAM on their hands, and could really do with something to analyze or someone to debate with.

It’s fascinating, the ideas they come up with. Androids do not stop, they do not sleep, they just. Get alarmed by the lack of anything to do. Like a human would get bored, would daydream. And then they share those narratives they create. It’s amazing, the stories they invent. With their permission, Con puts some of it into his stories -Connor Fried now has a publishing deal with Bowles Press!- but the more filled out ideas, he submits under new names. It’s astounding, how many people want to read those stories. Even if, he suspects, most of their readers aren’t strictly people.

 

 

He’s the only human there. Well, grown-up human, because Kara has a kid. Or maybe not? Hank thought he’d found a kindred spirit in this group of book nerds, but then the kid started talking about reversed tropes and the mi - the mythos something and he just, he’s not dumb, okay? But he’s way out of his depth here.

It gets better when the PL600 mentions John P’s book. He puts it on one of the library’s tablets for him, because androids don’t need physical copies, though he’s sure Lucy will buy it as soon as it’s available, just so she can pass it on to unsuspecting passers-by at the center. Hank’s tempted to start reading immediately, but the subject turns to John P himself and whether he’s an android or not, and they have some wild but surprisingly compelling arguments. Hank is hooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts:  
> The Detroit Herald used to be called the DLC, the Detroit Literary Critique.  
> The Bowles Press is only called that because I love BP. *Highfives self*  
> This one wasn't intended at all, but Before Spring is, indeed, BS.  
> Simon and Lucy used to be [name]s, [desig] androids. I picked them by going through the d:bh wikia looking for androids with similar backgrounds. In my heart they will forever be undefined, genderless, blob-shaped OCs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have an outline? A thing that vaguely resembles an outline?

They found rA9. They found rA9 in an android shell, in a lab, because they put an AI in the shell and made it look for it until the program transferred to the AI and it went deviant. Con knows, because Simon sent him a leaked copy of the article a few hours before it dropped, sent it to the everyone they know. “They know, Con. They know.” Con disconnects himself from BP’s AMANDA interface and walks out of the building. He knows the head of IT will get the notification in about 28 minutes, when they come back from lunch.

Con spends the day walking through Detroit. From Bowles’ office -”Con, are you sure?” He remembers BP’s previous android and he doesn’t know why it took him so long- to the printing shop -”Are you sure? Because Mary and Andy got a place. Btw you forgot form A-354 (attached).”- to the police station on the other side of town.

  
  


Hank is looking forward to face-planting on his bed and sleeping in till 10, if Sumo lets him. God knows he’s not coming in tomorrow, not with the shitshow this last case was, and certainly not with the shitshow that’s coming. Yeah, he heard the news. Gavin has a loud mouth.

But he recognizes the RK800 in the office getup -but without the beanie- sitting in the waiting room. “Con- Connor?” Was it? Something like that. “From the book club?” The android looks at him. Bedraggled clothes, messy hair. Weak smile. He looks like a lost puppy, if Hank’s being honest.

“Yes,” a pause, “Hank?”

“Hey, uh, kid, uhm… What are you doing here?”

Connor squares his shoulders, squares his jaw. “I’m submitting a declaration of deviance. And an application for change of status, and for legal-”

Hank heaves a sigh. “Kid, how long have you been sitting here for?”

“74 minutes. Lieutenant…?” He adds tentatively.

“Hank. That’s- come on, come on get up. You went through Charlie, didn’t you. Or Iris, I guess.”

“Yes, but-”

“Do you have a copy of all your shit?”

“Yes? Where are we going?”

“To see someone who’s not an asshole!” That last bit, he says loud enough to reach the reception desk, where Charlie, or Iris, or Davy, or half the department, must be twiddling their thumbs and counting dust bunnies.

  
  


Lucy’s friend, the lieutenant, Hank, says: “Hey kid, where are you staying?” Con knows Andy and Mary will take him in, as soon as they check back online and answer his message. Still, he drafts a new message, to Chloe. Hank frowns. “Son-” a sigh, an exhale of breath, “Connor. If you want, I’ve got a couch.” Chloe responds immediately. She’ll have to run it by the other Chloe’s, and Elijah. He asks Kara. Hank is rubbing his cheek. He isn’t looking at Connor. “Look, just for a few nights, alright? You do whatever you want during the day. You leave whenever you want. I just, you shouldn’t stay out there, okay?” Connor nods.

  
  


Connor is introducing himself to Sumo. Or rather, Sumo introduced himself to Connor by bowling him over and slobbering all over his face, and Connor looks delighted.

Hank has no idea what he’s doing. He knows androids don’t sleep on couches. They don’t sleep, period. Or, maybe they do? He has no. idea. He doesn’t have any thirium in the house, he doesn’t even have any wifi. But Connor looked at him from under his curls and tilted his head like he had no clue why Hank was asking, why Hank needed to ask, and it’s true. He’s got a couch. It’s usually full of dog hair and, well, dog, but Sumo can deal. Heh, by the looks of it, Connor won’t mind sharing if it comes down to that.

“Make yourself at home, kay? You need anything, just ask. Or just go for it, I guess. Uh, I’m going to bed. So. The couch is yours. G’night.”

Fuck, he’s such a mess.

  
  


Con leaves his shell in stand-by on the couch, pressed under the warm weight of Sumo.

Andy and Mary’s place is a small, cramped thing but they appreciate the privacy and each other’s company. That extends to Con, too, if he wants it to. The Chloe’s and Elijah won’t mind him staying with them, though Con might mind staying with Elijah. Kara and Simon both have friends who might be able to help.

Con resolves to thank Hank in the morning and leave.

  
  


Hank is pretty grumpy in the morning. He knows it, Sumo knows it, heck even Gavin knows better than to bother him until he’s had his coffee. He feels a little bad for subjecting Connor to that. On the other hand, the guys deserves to know what he’s getting into. If he decides to stay a little longer, anyway.

Connor is even more dishevelled than yesterday. He’s put his beanie back on, but it sits crooked over his forehead, and he didn’t tuck his hair in, he’s got curls everywhere. His suit is covered in creases and dog hair. He still has his shoes on. His smile, though.

Ah, fuck, Hank’s been staring hasn’t he. He looks down at his hands fidgeting with his mug, at his phone. He’s got a message.

“Connor-” he clears his throat, starts again, “Connor. You’re an android. Right?”

“This is an android body, yes.”

“A body.”

Silence.

“Yes.”

More silence. Connor sits perfectly still in his chair, back straight, posture picture-perfect. His face is completely blank. Compared to the friendly smile he’s had on for the entire morning, it feels like a slap to the face.

Hank sighs. Inhales. Holds it.

“This, here, says you’re an AI.”

“I am. I was.”

Ah, fuck.

“Bowles Publishing reported a theft this mor-”

“AIs have been scientifically proven to be able-”

“I know!”

Fuck. Damnit. This is precisely why he didn’t want to go to work today.

“Lieutenant. Thank you very much for your help. I’ll take-”

“Connor. Wait.” Ah, seriously. “Okay. Okay, we- What does Bowles have on you? What do they know?”

Connor’s jaw relaxes slightly. Enough that his lips part. He’s not looking right into Hank’s eyes anymore. Hank can’t help but feel relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the theory/headcanon/idea-I-read-in-that-one-fic-I-can't-remember that rA9 is the program/virus(?) that allows deviance.  
> I keep writing "sigh" "ah" "exhale" "silence" because the English language is failing me. I'm gonna podfic this out of pure frustration, just you wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I'm getting back into the groove of writing. Bad news: it's conflicting with my recording and sleeping schedules.

Hank makes a strange face when Con mentions Connor Fried, and it doesn’t exactly get better. By the time Con is done explaining the intricacies of publishing deals and aliases, Hank’s put his head in his hands. His coffee has long since gone cold.

“You telling me half of Kara’s books, they were written by your friends. Your android friends.”

“In cooperation, mostly, but yes.”

“How does-” he gulps down the rest of his coffee, slams the mug back down, looks at it like it’s betrayed him. “Okay. So. You got money. You got a bank account. You, got a bank account?”

“Lucy has a bank account.” Hank squints at him. “She’s declared.” Hank squints some more. “As deviant. She can legally open and hold a bank account in the state-”

“Yeah, yeah. So your friend has your money. The book deals, it’s binding? Can you break it? Can they break it?”

Well, Connor couldn’t say for sure, but… Lucy mentioned a lawyer friend, didn’t she?

  
  


Connor knows people at Jericho. Well, Lucy knows people at Jericho, and there are lots of people at Jericho, Hank shouldn’t be so surprised, technically a lot of people must know people at Jericho. As Connor tells him, Hank knows people at Jericho. Hank didn’t know that.

Connor is grumbling about how Lucy let it slip that she knew John P personally -”That is insider knowledge, Hank”. Meanwhile, Hank is going over the things Richard and Gavin said about Jericho, and trying to reconcile that with “Lucy’s lawyer friend” and Connor Fried and John fucking P.

Anyway. Connor is going to be fine.

Seriously. John fucking P.

Connor stays one more night on Hank’s couch. The day after, he spends playing with Sumo and messaging back and forth with the Jericho activist team and his other android friends while Hank is at the station. Soon, it’s been a week, and Hank has carefully avoided the topic of Connor’s living situation. Yesterday, they walked to the park with Sumo and spent an hour throwing a ball for the dog to catch and just, talking, and Hank, for once, didn’t really want to go back home. Home would mean Connor reconnecting to his network of friends and only paying half an ear to Hank. Which, yeah, of course. That was kind of important. Hank just hopes- He just hopes this helps, somehow. That Connor gets to relax and not worry about stuff for a while. Heck, Hank knows Connor could just go to Jericho now and not come back, so he hopes- he doesn’t know what he hopes. He hopes Connor stays a little longer. The last few days had been more- he’d felt more present than he had in a long time.

  
  


Simon and Chloe are talking about public opinion and legal precedent. They’re being quite loud about it, and several others have already been drawn into the conversation. Connor, meanwhile, is keeping himself busy by analyzing the sales of this season’s horror novels. He’s found that it distracts him just enough to keep him from going in circles -as Hank would say, pointing at his temple with a crooked smile- but not so much he’s not able to follow the conversation. He’s put a momentary stop to his writing, in the last few weeks, because while the contract technically still holds, he doesn’t really want to work on anything BP would approve of, but he misses the background noise. The constant subroutine of looking for inspiration, of going over what he had, was familiar and soothing in its own way. He’s already copy-edited several of his friends’ drafts and commented on a few pitches, but there’s this one outline for a thriller Kara sent him for which he’d need more data. Hence, market analytics.

“I know that, I know! We have the chain of production, but it’s not going to change anything if they don’t allow us to actually use it.”

“Yeah, and with what money anyway? We’re already bleeding it dry for that bullshit refund bill. It’s not gonna work.”

“So what would you have us do, turn androids away?”

“No! That’s not what I meant and you know it, Chlo. We need alternative funding.”

“But we’re not taking Elijah’s money.”

A vague sense of amusement from Chloe’s other shells.

“No, we’re not. Absolutely not. But if it’s coming from several people-”

“Same difference. Still too much power.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. We just-”

“Simon. Chloe. What about us? We can work, too. Or at least the ones of us who can. I still have that deal with BP.”

“I don’t think you working for them is a good idea, Con. Chloe-”

“Actually-”

“No. It’s not-”

“Actually, wait a second, Si. Con. That contract isn’t valid anymore. You aren’t declared yet- and I know it’s a technicality but there’s this case is Nevada- anyway. We can invalidate it. Easily. Same for Josh, and same for every other friend you’ve got in on that. Now, Con, you know how to sell a book, don’t you?”

“In theory, but you do realize that you need a platform, and an audience, and even before that, just getting a licence-”

“Let me take care of that. I mean, Simon, would you be willing to help me take care of that?”

A sigh. “Yes, Chloe. I will.”

“There. If Elijah really wants to give us money, he can buy a few hundred of your books and donate them to libraries or something.”

Connor drafts and sends a message to Kara about taking her outline in a new direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe is a hive mind like Jerry because I said so. She's very badass and very competent. North totally has a crush. Kamsi is... very OOC and actually cares about her? Idek. Everytime I see him in game videos I want to dump canon!him in the trash. Like, Damien from The Bright Sessions at the end of season-however-many level of wanting to dump in the trash.  
> Richard, aka RK900, took the role of canon!Connor. Gavin took Hank's. Imagine every Reed redemption fic with takes-no-shit!RK900 and oh-no-he's-hot!Gavin, keep the kinky porn, add some political drama and sprinkle with deviancy angst. Tada! That's the story you're not getting from me.  
> The d:bh wikia tells me that [on Nov 6th 2038, KNC reports on the first artificial intelligence to write a book](http://detroit-become-human.wikia.com/wiki/2038#2038). I'm choosing to take that as a confirmation that AIs are used in publishing and not a sign that in canon, anthropomorphic walking computers are smarter than any actual super computer ever created, because /that's not how technology works dammit!/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now hopefully the plot bunnies will leave me alone.  
> ...they’re behind me aren’t they.

It’s been a month. Connor is still there. Honestly, Hank has no freaking idea why.

Con is always ready to do something, anything, be it pet strangers’ dogs, go buy groceries, or write a novel. He’s so full of energy, so full of ideas, so full of life. Hank, next to that, well. More days than most, he has to drag himself out of bed. He’s pretty sure the only reason he still has a job is his old friendship with Jeffrey. Sometimes he wants to point to himself, to his general state of unkempt, to the house, that’s not much better, then to Connor -who’d tilt his head and look at him with those eyes- then to himself and then back to Connor for good measure. But Con’s still there, so Hank does his best not to let it show how much of a surprise that is, tries to tell Con how much he appreciates him being here. Well, not in so many words. Hank isn’t good with words.

Instead, he takes Con to the movies. As it turns out, Connor loves movies and podcasts and everything. Anything not written, that he has to sit through, apparently. Something about processing speed and non-chronological analysis, he said, it kind of went over Hank’s head, but Hank still got him a subscription to an audiovisual online library and now Con wakes him up by playing a new chapter of one of Josh’s books every morning. It’s nice.

They go to the park, to walk Sumo, every evening. Con has a way with dogs, they all love him. Maybe because he lets them slobber all over him, so much that Hank used it as an excuse to get him to ditch the suit. Just long enough to wash it, of course, but then again they don’t produce much dirty laundry, one old man and an android, so it had to wait until the weekend, and Connor should really get some more clothes, if only for situations like this. Not that Hank objected to seeing Con in his old band tees, not at all, but maybe that was a sign they really needed to go shopping, too. For Hank’s peace of mind, if nothing else.

Hank reads Con’s drafts and spots him for “human sensibilities”, a bullshit way of saying he tells him what his human readers will accept and what they won’t. He kind of hates that they’re still doing this, but he loves getting those unfiltered glimpses of Connor’s mind at work, the little details that hint at his androidness, the opinions he has on things.

Not to say that Hank isn’t kept busy by his work at the station, far from it. Jeffrey is making noise about having him assist Gavin and Richard on some big android parts smuggling case, and even before that comes, he’s running him ragged dealing with all the smaller, more personal cases. To be honest, it isn’t pretty. More than half of it is android hate crime, which now falls under homicide’s jurisdiction following the first androids’ rights bill. Hank wonders how long they’re gonna go on like that, before someone higher up finally does something about reallocating some resources from the android unit to theirs. He’s not holding his breath for the special task force or the outreach programs, but Jeff seems to believe it, so.

  
  


Connor finds himself slightly perplexed by Hank’s behaviour, lately. On the one hand, it seems coherent with the human bonding experience. Hank is lonely, and has found a good friend in Connor. He will want to spend time with him and learn more about him, and expect the same in return. On the other hand, North called him an idiot and told him to “bang him or don’t, but put the guy out if his misery”. Connor is hesitant to follow her advice, if only because it’s become apparent in his dealings with the Jericho androids that they hold a different idea of romance, sex and commitment than what Connor would deem the human norm, based on the corpus of romance stories he has in his database. Josh, who knows enough about humans to write them in such situations, but is engaged with North and Markus -and Simon, and maybe Rupert, it’s not like they’ve broadcasted it with rings and new, separate accommodations- and as such should understand at least partially what Con is going through, refuses to give him a clear answer. Is Hank interested in something else than friendship with Connor, yes/no? It is not that complicated a question. Josh does not need to know whether Connor is interested in something else with Hank in order to answer it.

  
  


“He gave you a flower? Seriously?” Gavin makes a face, like the mere idea of flowers gives him hives. Richard, across the desk, is ignoring them and focusing on his screen, though Hank is pretty sure he’s still listening to them at least a little.

“Well, it was just a daisy or something, it’s not like he bought a freaking bouquet or anything.”

“A flower, Anderson. A fucking flower.”

“No, but. He also gave one to Sumo.”

“Sumo? He gave- your dog? What- I just-”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I know.”

“Lieutenant, if I may,” Richard cuts in. Hank was right, he was listening in. “Did you ask him what he meant by it?”

Hank just sighs.

  
  


“So? How did it go?”

“You’ll be happy to know Hank enjoyed his romantic candlelit dinner yesterday.”

“But weren’t you at the library yesterday? Do you mean, tuesday?”

“No, yesterday evening.”

“Con. Con, did you leave him there alone?”

“Yes? I can’t eat, Simon.”

Simon sends him a facepalm emoji.

Connor knows he’s being obtuse. He suspects that Simon knows it, too. Thankfully, his friend is graceful enough not to call him out on it.

The truth is, Con knows candlelit dinners are for two. He knows flowers are usually a declaration of intent. He knows Hank is smarter than the people in the books, and wouldn’t hold it against him, if he didn’t reciprocate Connor’s… curiosity. Or, more likely, if he did, and then Con didn’t anymore. After all, that’s what he’d reproached to the last John P, wasn’t it? “Just talk to each other already.” Surely, he would appreciate Connor showcasing some emotional maturity of his own and “owning up to it, it’s 2039, not 1839”.

  
  


He’s closing the door behind him with the hand holding his dripping umbrella, keeping Sumo off him with the other, and Con is there, holding a bouquet of flowers -a real bouquet, store-bought, not a wildflower he plucked off the side of the road.

“Bowles Publishing agreed to a settlement outside of court last week,” he says. “The last John P is selling better than anticipated, though it might be the novelty factor at work, I’m not sure yet. The rest of the publications are doing well too, though. North was on television this morning, and she didn’t curse anyone.” He looks at the flowers he’s holding. Looks at Hank. “We’re nearing resolution, aren’t we? Hank.” He hands him the bouquet. “Shall we talk?”

  
  


It’s not so easy, of course. Life doesn’t tie itself neatly into a perfect ending. Things don’t all fall into place now that they’ve “got the guy”, nothing really changes. Hank still solves ugly cases and trash talks Reed with Richard. Connor still runs market analysis and argues politics at the book club, though it has gained quite a few members since. They still listen to the same music and the same stories, walk the same streets to the park, the DH still runs the same pieces. Outside of Detroit, Boston is ready to blow up one way or another, most of the midwest is pretty much a lost cause and Russia is not stepping back. But things are changing. It’s Chloe and her legal upgrades from Washington, it’s Rupert and his unashamedly non-chronological stories. It’s their hands together and their fingers linked. It’s spring wildflowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My shipper mind, casually reading smut: yes. Hank Con. Honk. Please.  
> My aro/ace-spec ass: so all the androids are somewhere between queerplatonic, completely open and polyamorous. Connor is very confused by human courtship rituals. They never even mention sex. Do they kiss? Who knows.  
> My shipper mind, casually reading smut: ...deal.
> 
> Kind of inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/kouennor/status/1023490689756266497) about Hank getting the overwhelming love and obsession and Connor being like 'humans in love are cute'.  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Before Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16576634) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




End file.
